


Keeping Up with the Lanteans

by Vamillepudding



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Eventual Happy Ending, Jealousy, M/M, Oblivious, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-14
Updated: 2020-04-14
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:21:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23654530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vamillepudding/pseuds/Vamillepudding
Summary: There's been no mind altering drugs, no wraith attacks, and no anaphylactic shock the morning Rodney breaks up with John."We need to break up," Rodney says.John thinks, when did we start dating?The worst part is that everyone's so damnsympathetic.
Relationships: Rodney McKay/John Sheppard
Comments: 18
Kudos: 220





	Keeping Up with the Lanteans

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much to [fiveaces](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fiveaces/pseuds/fiveaces) for the awesome HeartGate logo, and to [Cynassa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cynassa) for many, many discussions about what started out as a fairly simple idea.

„We need to break up,” Rodney says. He looks very determined about it, his voice firm, his jaw set, and only his hands clenching and unclenching by his sides are an indication that he’s not as sure about this as he sounds.

“Uhhngh,” John says. It is not the most intelligible response in the world, but it is in fact the best he can do right now.

“It’s come to my attention that- hey, are you listening to me? Are you okay?” Suddenly Rodney’s pale face fills John’s entire vision, peering closely at him in the way that Rodney usually only peers closely at Ancient devices that don’t work quite how he expected them to.

John takes an automatic step back, hits the shelf behind him, and winces at the crash that signals something presumably valuable hitting the floor. Rodney blinks, but doesn’t make another attempt at coming closer. “Colonel?”

“I’m fine,” John snaps.

“Right. Anyway, I was saying- yes, what is it?” That last part is spoken directly into the radio, with Rodney already half-turning towards the door. John watches in bemusement as Rodney listens, curses, walks out, and comes back a mere second later, looking awkward. “I have to go,” he offers.

“Right.”

“I will- see you around?” Rodney says, moves in as if to do something horrifying like pat John’s arm or kiss his cheek or something, and pauses when John flinches. Rodney swallows, straightens his shoulders in that way he has when he’s about to do something very brave, and says, “For the record, I’m sorry. If things were different- but they never are, are they? Perhaps this is for the best.”

He breaks off, as though waiting for John to react to that, apparently unaware that John’s brain has done the neurological equivalent of rebooting since the beginning of this conversation. 

“So, bye,” Rodney says after exactly five seconds of silence, and flees.

John is left standing in his quarters. He thinks, _what the hell just happened._

He thinks, _when did Rodney and I start dating?  
  
_

***

John deals with this the way he deals with most situations that are at risk of involving feelings: He ignores it.

He spends the remainder of the day running with Ronon, sparring with Ronon, and going to the infirmary with Ronon. Keller has clearly given up on him, because she doesn’t so much as raise a disapproving eyebrow anymore when he comes in with a split lip. (Ronon, of course, does not have a split lip. Ronon is fine, and visibly smug about it.)

“I talked to Rodney,” she says once she’s started stitching up the cut, and only then does John realise that he’s made a tactical mistake. Keller has not given up on him, she’s just changed her aim to attack a weaker spot, and waited with it until he was physically incapable of talking.

John gives it his best attempt anyway. He makes it as far as opening his mouth, at which point Keller gives him a glare so fierce that she must have been taking lessons from Ronon. John shuts up.

“I talked to Rodney,” Keller repeats, “and I just wanted to say that I’m so sorry.”

“You are?” John tries to say, except it comes out as a series of incoherent noises. Keller, in an impressive feat of violating the medical code of ethics, hits his shoulder to get him to shut up. It’s not a very strong hit, John can’t help but notice. He’ll organise some sparring lessons for her later.

“Yes,” Keller says. “Break-ups are terrible.”

Break-ups, in John’s experience, are fine, actually. He’s never understood what the fuss was about. It’s not even that he doesn’t care because he was the one who ended the relationships – in fact, with one exception, it was him who’s always been broken up with. To this date John has yet to be devastated. Even his divorce went relatively painless: Nancy had mailed him the divorce papers, John had mailed them back with his signature, and then he’d stopped giving it so much as another thought for eight years.

“All done,” Keller says now, taking a step back so that John can get up. He does, looking in the mirror that Keller is holding up. There are bags under his eyes, but that’s practically a requirement for Atlantis. Besides, he doesn’t look nearly as tired as Rodney does, all the time.

“I’ve been thinking,” Keller says, and John’s gaze snaps back to her. She sounds faintly awkward. “Holloway from Engineering has just been dumped by her boyfriend, too, and a few of us were going to get some booze and get drunk by the pier. You can come, if you like. Take your mind off things.”

John stares at her for what feels like a really long time. He can’t help it. “Are you inviting me to a girls’ night out?” he finally asks, bewildered. Behind him, Ronon snorts.

“Not just girls. I’ll be there.”

John turns, feeling like today has already been longer than it has any right to be. “You will?”

Ronon, evidently bored by this conversation now, shakes his head in what might be denial to John’s question, but what in all likelihood is an expression of lost hope for John, and leaves, clapping John’s shoulder on his way out.

John, once he’s done wheezing from the force of the blow, says, “Thanks for the offer, but I have this- thanks for the offer.”

“Any time,” Keller says, and the really terrifying thing is that she sounds like she means it.

So, John concludes back in the relative safety of his quarters, that’s 2 (Rodney, Keller) against 1 (John) who think he’s on the very, very short list of people who were dating Rodney.

***

Unfortunately, avoiding someone in Atlantis is pretty hard to pull off, and harder still when one person is the military commander and the other person is the chief scientist. John hasn’t truly appreciated exactly how much he sees Rodney until he’s trying his hardest not to – of course, the seeming increase in his daily Rodney-time might also be due to the fact that Rodney chooses the exact same hiding spots.

“Oh,” John says, in the mess hall at 4:30 am, seeing Rodney dig into breakfast. “You’re early.” It’s the type of remark that Rodney loves to make fun of, and John is bracing himself for a snide remark.

Rodney does not make a snide remark. Rodney says, “Yes, actually, yes, I am.” He doesn’t say, _Because I thought you were still asleep, asshole_ , but it’s implied. “I’m just about done here though, actually, so-“ Rodney pauses, looks down at the barely-touched tray laden with toast and eggs, and changes tactics. “-you can finish that, if you like. Eggs. Very good for you. Protein.”

“Thank you,” John says sarcastically, but it’s no use – by the time he’s finished speaking, Rodney has already gone.

It’s not an isolated incident. That very same day, a day after Rodney’s descent into madness, John runs into Rodney no less than twenty-three times. He counted. The only consolation is that Rodney is clearly as unhappy about this as John, if not more so. It’s a little embarrassing, frankly, the way that all of a sudden, Rodney seems to be incapable of controlling himself around John.

There’s that time at senior staff meeting where Rodney walks in late, not even bothering to offer an explanation anymore, and sits down on autopilot, where he stays right until he realises that John is sitting to his right, by which point he flinches, gets up, looks around the room for another seat, finds none, and is left no choice but to sit back down.

Then there’s that time in the afternoon when there’s the routine jumper maintenance scheduled in. John, not an engineer, has been told frequently over the past few years that he does not actually have to be present for those check-ups, and that, in fact, his presence is neither needed nor appreciated.

John has, in the past, largely ignored this.

Rodney, technically an engineer but also known for making people cry, has been told the same thing, the only difference being that, unlike John, he’s not just chosen to ignore it, but has instead gotten properly involved to the point where it’s now part of his official duties.

Naturally, Rodney has yet to stop complaining about it.

Usually the weekly check-up marks one of John’s favourite cases of Rodney-watching. Rodney never lasts more than 2 minutes before dropping the pretence of letting other people work and taking over himself. That’s always John’s cue to come over, and hinder Rodney’s work by asking a hundred stupid questions. It’s fun, it’s their thing, Rodney hates it but tough shit, and this week, John is already entering the jumper when he realises that, wait, he’s supposed to be in his quarters or flinging himself off the nearest building. Instead he’s here, in an enclosed space with the one person he doesn’t want to see and who, more importantly, doesn’t want to see him; a fact made clear by the way Rodney takes one look at him and then does something entirely unprecedented: he hands his scanner to one of the engineers close by, and says, “You take over for me.”

The engineer in question doesn’t take the scanner. Her face displays the same mixture of astonishment and suspicion that John is sure shows on his own. “Are you feeling alright, Rodney?”

“I’m fine,” Rodney snaps in the tone of voice that has never once meant that anyone is fine, ever. Rodney seems to notice this himself, because he adds, trying for gentle and failing by miles, “Just thought I’d, you know, let someone else get the practice in.”

He thrusts the scanner at her again. When she still doesn’t take it, her eyes darting nervously between Rodney and John, Rodney huffs impatiently and puts it on the console, then rushes past them both before John can even think about stopping him.

John tells the terrified engineer, “Don’t worry about McKay, he wouldn’t have left you alone if he didn’t think you could handle it.” He says it to soothe her nerves, but it’s not a lie. Rodney has no patience for incompetence.

The engineer says, “I heard about what happened, and, frankly, Colonel, I think you can do better.”

John crosses his arms just to give himself more time to react. “Really.”

“In fact- I was thinking, and in my experience, the best way to move on is to find someone new. Plenty of fish in the sea, and all that.”

“Look,” John says awkwardly, “I’m flattered, but-“

“No!” the engineer interrupts, turning red. “No, no. No. That’s not what- No.”

“Oh. Well, good. Pretty sure McKay would kill me.”

Now she frowns. “Colonel, if you feel threatened there’s this support group that-“

“Oh my god,” John says. He’s never been more ready to be done with a conversation. “Forget it. Just, just say what you were going to say, and then we can all go about our days, alright? Jesus.”

“Right. Well. Have you heard of HeartGate?”

***

The next day, John is taking no chances with breakfast. He asks Teyla to meet him by the pier and to bring food, and Teyla obliges without question.

They’ve entered what passes for the summer months in Atlantis, even though it’s late October by Earth standards. Most people still have their meals in the mess, but at this time of the year, there’s always tables and benches on the south-west pier, where the sun rises every morning, and where John had a picnic with Chaya, two years, two lifetimes ago. Nowadays, John rarely bothers coming out here. There’s always the next crisis just waiting around the corner, and it’s easier to stay close to the command room, just in case; and besides, Rodney always complains about sunburn.

“Teyla,” John says after several minutes of eating in comfortable silence. “You didn’t happen to hear any gossip recently, did you?”

“I do not gossip,” Teyla says serenely. She says the exact same way that she says things like, I promise I would never lie to you about what I think of your hair, John, which is how John knows it’s bullshit.

“However,” Teyla continues, her lips curving faintly upward, “if I had indeed heard something, then I assure you that it would be nothing unseemly.”

“Nothing unseemly, that’s good, right?”

“It is,” she assures him. They both pause to take a sip of their coffee; John absently thinks that it’s a shame Rodney isn’t here, he never fails to be smug about having converted Teyla from her despicable tea-drinking habits. He did it smartly, too, getting her hooked on the good stuff first before subjecting her to the horror that is coffee from the mess.

It almost feels like old times, having breakfast in the sunlight, a few scientists and marines scattered here and there, just enjoying each other’s company for a while.

Then Teyla sets down her cup and covers John’s hands with her own. “John,” she says seriously, “I am sure things will, as you say, work out between you.”

John doesn’t pull his hands back, but it’s tempting. “Teyla,” he says through clenched teeth, because Rodney losing his mind is nothing new, and both Keller and the engineer, whom John has come to know as Chaudhry, clearly get their info from Rodney, and all things considered, this entire charade is one of the less weird occurrences in the daily Atlantis life. But _Teyla_? He feels oddly betrayed.

Teyla inclines her head slightly, a silent question. John forces himself not to let his sudden flare of temper blend into his voice when he says, “You don’t- you can’t seriously think that McKay and I were actually together.” He knows he hasn’t quite succeeded when Teyla straightens abruptly, her hands leaving John’s and cradling her cup once more.

“That was uncalled for.”

“Tell me, then,” John snaps, abruptly fed up with all of this, with her, with Rodney, with himself. “How long were we supposed to be dating? And when was anyone going to tell me about it?”

Teyla stands. “Your company is very unpleasant today. Come find me when you feel less disagreeable.”

John waits until she’s gone, then curses, low and viciously. It does nothing to calm him, but it sure feels satisfying.

***

“Colonel, a word.” Rodney sounds thunderous. Normally John would be glad for the distraction from reviewing offworld mission reports, a task so tedious that he always puts it off as long as possible, but nothing about this week has been normal so far.

He makes a show of continuing his reading, making a few notations here and there, careful not to look up as he counts the seconds in his head. “One minute.” 17…18…19…

“Colonel,” Rodney snaps. 20 seconds, John thinks. Longer than expected, though not record-breaking or anything.

“McKay,” he drawls, finally closing the file with a flourish designed entirely to tic Rodney off. “What can I do for you?”

It occurs to him then that Rodney is holding a laptop. It also occurs to him that there is an eerily familiar logo displayed on the screen.

“I’m going to ask you one very simple question,” Rodney says. “Did you sign up for this?”

‘This’ is a dating app. No one knows who programmed it; according to Chaudhry, it just showed up in the network one day. There are 233 members at the moment, which means that about one half of the expedition members both knows and cares about this.

Technically John didn’t sign up for it, Chaudhrey did. She also helped him fill out his profile, and uploaded a picture of him. At some point between answering question 11 (“do you enjoy going off-world or would your dream date be a cosy evening in the botanists’ sun roof?”) and question 27 (“what would be your worst way to die”), John had come to sorely regret his decision to a. agree to this, b. come to the puddlejumper earlier that day, and c. ever going to Atlantis in the first place

(That’s not true. John will never, ever regret that.)

Still, there’s something about the unhappy downwards pull of Rodney’s mouth and the lines around his eyes, like he has any right to feel exhausted, like he hasn’t been the reason for many, many uncomfortable conversations that John has suffered through in these past three days, that makes John say, “What’s it to you?”

“What’s it to _me_? Oh, that’s- that’s rich, Colonel. You don’t even care how this looks, do you?”

“How does it look?”

“Are you kidding? They’ll have a field day with this. Rodney McKay, PhD, PhD, brilliant mind second to none, future winner of the Nobel prize, so terrible at relationships that his boyfriend doesn’t even wait one _day_ after the break-up to sign up to Hot Hook-Ups Anonymous.”

“Well,” John says after a beat. “It’s not exactly anonymous.”

It's the wrong thing to say; Rodney flushes, in embarrassment or anger, John has no idea and doesn’t particularly care. “Stop,” he says, low and angry. Miraculously, Rodney does, eyes wide. Maybe he’s finally listening. Maybe John can finally say what he’s been causing him sleepless nights. “I’m not your boyfriend. I never was.”

Rodney flinches. “I know that. You’ve made it abundantly clear over the last few months. Message received, Colonel, loud and clear.”

It's possible, John thinks, that Rodney has never received a single message in his life that he didn’t want to hear, let alone loud and clear.

That John should be punished for Rodney’s selective hearing just seems wildly unfair, though.

“I think you should go,” Rodney says, apropos of nothing. His hands are still clutching the laptop, knuckles white, and that stupid logo seems to be mocking John.

John wants to point out that it’s _his_ office, and that _Rodney_ was the one who just waltzed in and started throwing accusations around. But one look at Rodney’s drawn face, at the slope of his shoulders, at the strangely vulnerable twist of his mouth, and suddenly, John hears himself saying, “Yeah, alright,” and gets up, the thought _You’ll be sleeping on the couch_ tonight flashing in his mind against his own volition.

***

Chaudhry corners him in the hallway the next day. This in itself is an impressive feat: John isn’t easy to track down or run into by chance, his schedule set in theory but in practice being more of a suggestion than anything else. Rodney isn’t any different, switching between labs at seemingly random intervals and running off at least once a day to some obscure part of the city, always ready to deal with the next crisis. Over the years it’s become somewhat of a personal challenge to find him without using the radio, and John is quite adept at it by now.

Chaudhry doesn’t waste any time with pleasantries, simply informing him without preamble that somehow, improbably, he’s received 23 messages on HeartGate.

John feels his jaw drop in horror at this revelation, and he automatically checks to make sure no one is listening. No one is, though there is a marine guarding an inconspicuous door a few metres away. He salutes when spotting John, and John nods before turning back to Chaudhry, making sure to angle his back towards the guy when he says, “Really?”

“Really,” Chaudhry says. “You can check them out for yourself, if you like, although I took the liberty of deleting some of the…bolder ones.”

“23 messages, huh?” John says, mostly to himself. “That’s good, right?”

“Very good, Colonel,” Chaudhry agrees.

“And, just theoretically,” John says slowly, warming up to the idea now, “is there like, a rating? Some way to see if you’re more, uh, in _demand_ than the others?”

“Oh, no, Colonel,” Chaudhry says. “You’re thinking of Rate-my-CO. But don’t worry, you’re at least a five on that.”

“A five? A five on what scale?”

“You should really check your inbox on HeartGate,” Chaudhry says, ignoring him. “At least a few of the messages seemed worth checking out.”

“What’s Rodney’s rating? Is it lower than mine? It’s lower, right?”

“Come to me if you need more help with the app, Colonel,” Chaudhry says, and then their conversation gets cut short from the explosion that rocks the floor, and John’s last thought before unconsciousness is that he should really, really stop thinking of inconspicuous doors as anything but highly suspicious.

***

He wakes to someone shouting, loud and agitated and faintly hysterical, drowning out the murmur of other voices, the beeping and humming of medical equipment, and any happy memory John has ever had. 

John wants to smother himself with his pillow, but when he tries, the shouting stops and there are strong, sweaty hands gripping his wrists strong enough to leave bruises, so he stops, just lets go, and falls back asleep before the berating can begin anew.

The next time he wakes there’s blessed silence, which is good, because his head is hurting like a motherfucker. John _hates_ the infirmary.

“I hate the infirmary,” he says out loud, blinking rapidly to clear the sleep from his eyes. There’s no way of telling what time it is, but it’s empty here in a way it only ever is during the middle of the night.

“Most people do,” Keller says pleasantly, emerging from the adjacent room. “ _Most people_ would be here a lot less if they stopped doing reckless things like being in explosions.”

“Most people can’t exactly help it,” John says with a scowl and allows Keller to shine a torchlight into his eyes. Only after he’s successfully given her his name, date and rank does he realise what’s been bothering him in the back of his mind since he woke up. “Chaudhry?”

“She’s fine. You have a very mild concussion, but that’s all.”

John nods. There’s something else that he means to ask, but there is really no good way to say it without sounding like an asshole. “Where is everyone?” Because it’s not like John expects people to wait by his bedside every time he gets injured, but, well, usually they do, middle of the night or not.

“Kicked them out,” Keller replies, easily but with an edge to her voice, and Christ, John knows that tone, is intimately familiar with it. People generally use it right before he learns that Rodney has done something stupid like hit on someone called The Butcher, or accidentally built a bomb or something.

“What did Rodney do?”

“You know, Colonel,” Keller says conversationally, “the first time you were injured with me as CMO, Rodney scared half the nursing staff, questioned my medical degree no less than five times, wouldn’t go away until we promised he could watch the surgery, and then fainted before we’d even cut you open. So I thought that was bad. Then I realised yesterday that that was Rodney on a _good day_.”

“I don’t think Rodney has good days,” John says and immediately regrets it. Rodney has plenty of good days. Sometimes John catches himself thinking that for all that he bitches and complains, Rodney on his worst days is still infinitely better than John on his best. Of course, those thoughts only ever last until the next time that Rodney gets John involved in a weird ritual that involves public nudity and blood sacrifice.

“You should get some rest. Your offworld mission starts in-“ Keller glances at her wristwatch. “-seven hours.”

“I thought I had a concussion.”

“Mild. Mild concussion. To be honest, that’s practically your baseline by now. I don’t even think the scanner noticed the difference.”

Suddenly, John is struck by the fierce wish that Rodney was around to call Keller a hack.

***

A trading agreement was reached with the people of M4S-453 maybe a year ago. Atlantis gets fruits, vegetables and monthly music lessons to satisfy the anthropologists, and they in turn get medicine and monthly lessons on Ancient technology – or, to be more precise, once a month they get Rodney.

John still isn’t sure how exactly this came to pass. All he knows is that he had to skip the original mission due to severe blood loss or organ failure or something like that, and when he heard about it later from Lorne, he was informed that Atlantis had a new trading agreement, and Rodney was part of it for reasons that escape John and that Lorne refused to elaborate on.

So now, they visit M4S-453 once a month to watch Rodney be his most condescending self for three hours.

It’s a half hour walk from the gate to the main village, and normally Rodney spends it whining about the weather, whining about his busy schedule, whining about his lack of sleep, whining about how of all the scientists in Atlantis he is the one who has to do this when they could just get someone of less importance, couldn’t they, if only someone cared about his state of mind and delicate health and oh my god did you just hear a bee?

Today, though, Rodney is utterly silent, and the rest of the team follows his example. It’s starting to get on John’s nerves, actually, watching Rodney stumble through the forest and almost trip over a root into a river if Ronon hadn’t caught him, and all the while not complaining even _once_.

“Watch out, buddy,” John says once Rodney is back on his feet, “if you get a concussion we’ll lose our only source of music lessons.”

Rodney presses his lips together and, in what must be an almost unbearable effort for him, doesn’t reply.

Teyla and Ronon exchange a look (John hates when they do that), and then, following some unspoken communication, Teyla lightly touches Rodney’s arm and leads him to where the forest is giving way to the village. John moves to follow them, already ready to be done with this mission, when a sharp pain stops him in his tracks: Ronon has hit him upside the head, either underestimating his own strength or estimating it exactly right.

“Don’t be a dick,” Ronon says, and jogs to catch up with Teyla and Rodney, leaving John alone among trees and roots and bees that will hopefully sting Rodney any minute now.

***

John has already resigned himself to spending the next three hours teaching Ronon and Teyla how to play poker while Rodney is off doing his thing, except then Juul emerges from one of the large brick houses.

Juul is the mayor or the president or the resident diplomat or some other role that the universal translator has never managed to get quite right. Either way, he’s important, and he’s negotiated the trading agreement, and he adores Teyla and respects Ronon and (for unfathomable reasons )likes and is amused by Rodney and (for even more unfathomable reasons) has never treated John with anything but the icy politeness that indicates a thorough dislike. John is only okay with this because he himself has never understood why everyone treats Juul like the best thing since the invention of football.

Juul greets them, jovially and unaware of any tension between them. Not that there is any – in fact, John seems to be the only one in a bad mood, although Rodney still throws him these weird little glances now and then.

“Doctor,” Juul says warmly to Rodney once the pleasantries are done, “the weather has blessed us today, so we have prepared the market square for you. Don’t worry about your escorts, someone will come for them in a minute. If you would like to accompany me?”

John tenses, his hand tightening on his P-90 as he takes a half-step in front of Rodney.

“Yeah, he’s not going anywhere without his ‘escorts’, alright?”

“John,” Teyla says, her frown matching Juul’s. “What is the problem?”

“I thought one of my people could show you into one of the taverns,” Juul says, “like in your previous visits. I had not realised there would be an issue.”

“Fine,” John barks. “Ronon and Teyla, one of you can go see that tavern, but I want one of you guarding the gate.”

Teyla visibly stiffens. “John, I do not sense any wraith nearby, and-“

“One guard, and that’s an order.”

“As you wish,” Teyla says in an icy tone. “And if you do not mind me asking, _Colonel_ , what will you be doing?”

John smiles grimly. “I’ll be going with McKay.”

John hasn’t really been attending the lessons, not since the very first one, where he listened to Rodney monologue for ten minutes about what a colossal waste of time this all was, and then wandered off in search of something more fun. He remembers that not many people attended, which didn’t strike him as odd at the time, since _Tech for Dummies, Or: How Not to Kill Yourselves Like the Neanderthals_ didn’t seem like the type of class anyone would sign up for.

So with that in mind, he enters the market square, trailing a few steps behind Rodney and Juul, who have been immersed in a conversation that apparently doesn’t require John’s input – and just stops.

There’s at least fifty people on that square, all seated on chairs that have been arranged in a half-circle around a wooden platform, and-

“You brought a _whiteboard_ here?”

Rodney ignores him, like he’s been ignoring him all day, and steps onto the podium. A hush befalls the crowd. John tries to find a good vintage point from which he can keep an eye on both the audience and Rodney, when Juul reappears by his side.

“Your doctor is very popular with my people.”

“He’s not really _my_ doctor,” John says instinctively, and belatedly adds, “and he’s not technically a doctor, you know.”

Juul’s eyebrows are etched in a frown. “Perhaps a fail of the translator? Does he not aid you in your needs?”

“Well.”

“Has he not saved your life on many occasions?”

“We usually take turns,” John says.

“You needn’t worry, Colonel,” Juul says, right as Rodney is scribbling an equation on the board. “He is very loyal to Atlantis. He wouldn’t even consider our offer.”

And – see, the thing is that John isn’t great with people, not the way Teyla is, but he’s also not bad with them the way Rodney is. And he knows a warning sign when he hears one.

He asks, “What offer?”

***

“You want to _leave Atlantis_?”

“Are you harassing me?” Rodney asks. He’s slightly out of breath, but it’s his own fault, really. He shouldn’t have tried to shake John off on their way back to the stargate. “Is that what all those seminars were about? Bullying civilians?”

“You don’t know what those seminars were about,” John points out. “You skipped them. And actually, maybe I should force you to go next time, because clearly they would have taught you a little something about _loyalty_ , and-“

“Okay, first of all, I don’t remember _you_ attending, _in_ _fact_ , I distinctly recall skipping the last seminar to watch a nonsensical football match with you-“

“Nonsensical?!”

“ _And_ ,” Rodney continues, walking faster now that the gate is almost in sight, “secondly, you’re not my commanding officer so I can go wherever the hell I want and there isn’t a damn thing you can do about it.”

“I can’t believe you,” John shouts, “you’d seriously abandon Atlantis just to play God to some natives that hang on your every word?” Now that he thinks about it, that sounds exactly like something Rodney would do.

Rodney’s own voice is rising to match John’s in volume as he shouts back, “Are you listening to yourself? You know what, if I _were_ leaving Atlantis, it would be to finally get a break from your _hovering_ , and-“

“Fine! If you do leave Atlantis, then don’t expect me to cry about it! And when you come crawling back because your new boyfriend doesn’t know video games or string theory and couldn’t care less about which Batman costume is best,” John says, jogging a little to catch up with Rodney so they can go through the gate at the same time, “then you better get in line, because I’ll be busy playing _nonsensical_ football with Ronon.”

“Uhm,” Ronon says, entering the gateroom right behind them.

“-very few complications,” Teyla is saying to- damn.

“John, Rodney,” Carter says, a polite smile fixed on her face that nonetheless promises doom, “when you’re done, why don’t you join me in my office.”

***

Carter asks Rodney inside her office first, which means that John is left outside trying his best to eavesdrop while simultaneously trying not to look like he’s eavesdropping. Atlantis’ walls aren’t soundproof, not exactly, but you’d have to shout at the top of your lungs to be heard from the outside.

Rodney is, as of right now, shouting at the top of his lungs.

It’s still not loud enough to make anything out that he’s actually saying, just the general noise and a few sparse words like “Sheppard” and “incompetent” and “workplace harassment”. Luckily the office walls are glass, or at least the Ancient equivalent of it, so while the eavesdropping itself isn’t super successful, John can at least read body language and lips.

Carter is doing her best Placating Upset Employee impression, matching Rodney’s impression of Jilted Lover beat for beat. John watches as Rodney finally seems to calm down, still pacing but no longer shouting. The next time that he walks past Carter, she says something that has him stopping dead in his tracks, which in turn makes John tense up instantly: anything that has Rodney looking shocked like that usually means they’re all about to die an agonising death.

Rodney says something, then Carter says something that has Rodney’s expression change from shock to annoyance, and then suddenly they both turn to look directly at John, who freezes and offers them an awkward wave.

Ten seconds later, Rodney walks out, shoots John a withering look, and doesn’t bother holding the door open for him. John figures he deserves it.

Carter’s speech is nothing John hasn’t heard from various superior officers over the years. Professionalism is mentioned, honouring the chain of command, the value of working relationships, and generally keeping one’s shit together in the field – it’s all and old hat by now, and John knows at which points to nod and apologise and promise he’ll try harder.

They’re almost through when suddenly Carter says, switching from stern to understanding almost too fast to process, “I know this isn’t easy for you, John,” and that’s precisely when John’s alarm bells start ringing.

“Workplace romances are always hard. Stressful situations often bring people closer together, says Colonel Samantha Carter, a person for whom John had a lot of respect, right up until 10 seconds ago. “Every single person in this mission experiences copious amounts of stress every day. It might seem like the SGC isn’t aware of that, but we are, and we’re not dismissing anything that might help. In your case, it hasn’t only helped you and Rodney as individuals, but actually increased your work efficiency by twelve per cent.”

“Colonel-“ John tries to protest, but he’s not really expecting anything to come of it. What’s the point? It’s not like anyone ever actually listens.

“However,” Carter continues firmly, “that does not mean that you can allow your private life to affect a mission. There are five hundred lives here at stake, Colonel Sheppard, and you accepted responsibility for that when you accepted the position of military commander. Now, I’ve already talked to Rodney about it, and he’s explained that you’ve had trouble dealing with the end of your relationship. I understand. But frankly, you need to get it together, and that’s an order. Do you understand?”

John doesn’t understand. John may never understand anything ever again in his life. John says, “I understand, sir.”

***

John is still pretty pissed by the time he returns to his quarters, and it’s that residue anger at Rodney that causes him to turn on his laptop and open HeartGate.

_You’ve got heart_ , a cheerful cartoon-baby with wings informs him. Squinting at it, John can’t shake off the feeling that it bears an unsettling similarity to Zelenka.

He clicks on the virtual letter that not-Zelenka holds out to him, and an inbox of sort opens on his screen. Chaudhry wasn’t lying; even with the messages that she deleted, the number has gone up, and there are now over thirty messages waiting for him.

John feels his face growing warm as he scrolls through his inbox. He’s never had trouble finding dates, finding partners, finding hook-ups, but it’s one thing to go to an alien planet and get chatted up by the local warrior princess goddess, and another to get compliments on his gun skills and his abs by people he works with every day.

It doesn’t take all that long for the novelty to wear off, and soon even the continuing embarrassment isn’t enough to keep from going bored. John is almost ready to close the app and be done with it forever, which might make Rodney finally shut up about it, when one subject line catches his eye.

It reads: _Hi you gorgeous hunk_

John clicks on the message.

_Hi you gorgeous hunk, it says, I saw your profile and you are H O T. Hit me up if you r up for fun hours at the gym or killing wraith or playing golf xx_

John frowns at the screen for what feels like a really long time. He thinks, _this is definitely Rodney_.

He thinks, _that dick_.

He thinks, _if he wants to play it that way, fine_.

He hits _reply_.

***

“What are you doing?” Ronon asks, dropping his tray on the table and sitting down so heavily that the chair creaks a little.  
John closes his laptop reflexively and immediately wishes he hadn’t; this tactic never worked with magazines, and it doesn’t now.

“Nothing,” he tries anyway, which does nothing to make him feel less like a teenager.

Ronon waits.

John mashes his potato with a fork without actually eating it.

Ronon waits.

John throws down his fork and says, “This is why this marriage isn’t working.”

Ronon waits.

John gives up.

“I’m catfishing McKay, but it’s okay because McKay is catfishing me, too.”

Ronon says, “I have no idea what you’re on about. Are you eating that?”

John shoves the remains of his potato and half of his steak into his mouth. “Basically,” he says once he’s finished chewing, “McKay is pretending to be a hot botanist chick, and I’m pretending to be myself, but interested.”

“If this is a sex thing, I don’t want to hear about it,” Ronon says.

“It’s not- why does everyone always think that it’s a sex thing?” John says, louder than he intended. He can’t shake the feeling that everyone is staring at him, possibly because everyone _is_ , their heads turned shamelessly in his direction until John glares at them. “It’s not a sex thing,” he says to Ronon.

Ronon looks unconvinced.

“It’s _not_ ,” John insists.

“Okay.”

“Oh for- alright, look,” John says and pushes away his tray to make room for the laptop again. He types in his password and the screen immediately changes to the chat window, left open from earlier but with a new message.

Ronon frowns down at it and reads aloud: “Tell me more about planes, I want you to take me to new heights – I don’t get this other bit.”

“That’s a winky face,” John says helpfully. “He’s – she’s – he’s winking at me. Over the chat.”

“Okay.”

“He doesn’t know I know it’s him,” John explains, unfazed by Ronon’s sceptical face. “That’s why it’s genius.”

“Thought you said college football was genius.”

“This is genius too.” John realises that Ronon has been scrolling upward in the chat, skimming the hundreds of messages – oh wow, that’s more than he expected. “Look, there’s a good bit.”

“Candy, you’re so sweet it makes me want to-“ Ronon breaks off. “Look, I _really_ don’t want to hear about it.”

“Don’t worry,” John tells him. “You’re still young. You’ll get it once you’re older.”

“Maybe.” There’s a bit of a pause in which Ronon finishes his own meal and then finishes John’s too, exchanging his empty plate for John’s half-full one in a practiced gesture, and in between chewing and swallowing Ronon says, sounding somewhat awkward about it, “I’m pretty good at this stuff actually. I could help.”

“Help-“ John repeats, mind blanking. “Help with what?”

“Courting is important. You’re messing it up. It’s worse for you because you’re not just courting, you’re trying to get him back.”

“I’m not-“

“So I can help with that. Give me the laptop.”

John hands it over and watches, in a sort of numb haze, as Ronon starts typing. He’s doing it painfully slow, which is as much John’s fault as it is Rodney’s – Rodney tried to teach him and lasted about five minutes before storming off, and John was supposed to take over but ended up just playing catch with Ronon instead (a satedan version of it, though. It involved several large bats, parkour, and dozens of cuts and bruises). Now, watching Ronon typing about one letter a minute, John can’t help but feel like him and Rodney failed as parents.

After what feels like an eternity, Ronon finally lets him look at the message he’s sent. John reads in growing horror, skimming over some words while being stuck on others, whole phrases playing in his mind like on loop, there’s words here that he didn’t even know Ronon _knew_ – his face hot, he turns back to Ronon, who claps him on the shoulder, says, “You’re welcome,” and, “I gotta go, I’m meeting Jennifer,” and then he’s gone, and John is left alone with a sense of impending doom.

Then he realises that Rodney is already typing.

***

The message, when it finally arrives, starts with _It’s over_.

Obviously it’s not over, though, not even close, because it goes on for much longer, the written version of a typical Rodney-tirade, starting from a somewhat reasonable point and diving off into insanity quicker than the blink of an eye, interspersed with inane rambles about just about anything that comes to mind and then some. Also, the word _whore_ gets mentioned kind of a lot.

“-heartless wrench with promiscuous tendencies bordering on nymphomaniac,” John says, flawlessly quoting from memory after the dozen-or-so times that he’s read it, and adds, “and then there’s a bit where she compares me to lemons.”

“She?” Teyla asks and whacks him with a stick.

“He,” John wheezes. “Why is it always pain with you?”

“Apologies,” Teyla says, getting another hit in that John is unable to block, “I was unaware that you needed coddling.”

“I’m starting to think that you’re feeling a little pissed at me,” John jokes. He pauses when he catches Teyla’s expression. “Wait, _are you_? – Jesus _Christ_ ,” he yelps, nearly dropping one of the sticks from the flare of pain that shoots up his arm.

“I assure you that I am not feeling anything,” Teyla says, obviously lying.

“They teach you that on Vulcan?” John asks, and only realises belatedly that Rodney isn’t in the room to laugh.

“But,” Teyla continues, circling him before launching into a new attack, “if I _were_ feeling something, it would be confusion at the continued difficulties our team is facing as the result of certain individuals and their behaviour.”

This time, John is ready for her, and counters her onslaught with brute force. “I’m starting to get a little sick of getting all the blame, here. Rodney-“ He falters, stopping just short of saying, _Rodney started it_.

Judging by her raised eyebrows, Teyla knows exactly how he intended to end that sentence. “Rodney,” she says neutrally, “already attended a sparring session with me this morning.” She uses his moment of surprise to her advantage, performing a series of hits that will leave bruises all over his arms.

John, recovered from his distraction, tries to copy the way she handled her sticks earlier, aiming at her legs, and isn’t surprised when she blocks him effortlessly.

It’s possible that Teyla is bored now, or maybe she’s still annoyed, but whatever it is, John finds himself on the back of the mat, staring up at Teyla, who might be smiling a little.

“And how’s Rodney now?” he asks.

The smile gets almost imperceptibly wider. “I am positive he will regain full use of his wrists by the end of today.”

***

Rodney made a chart once, way back in the first year of the mission. It was titled ‘time Major Sheppard spends being injured that could be better used doing other things’. John truly believes that he never knew what passive-aggressiveness really meant until he attended a staff meeting with a sprained ankle and a bruised face, and walked in just in time to see Rodney carefully pinning the chart to the wall.

John had removed the chart more times than he could count, which is also the reason why there used to be several black scorch marks in the conference room, and despite his best efforts, every time he’d go inside there’d be a new chart there, mocking him.

At some point John stopped bothering, or perhaps Rodney stopped first, their combined stubbornness not gone but moved on to other things. The conference room got a new coat of paint. They forgot about it. And now, following Rodney’s request to come meet him in Rodney’s quarters, John realises that he hasn’t thought about it in _years_. He’s thinking about it now, though, having walked into the room without a knock, and seeing Rodney unfolding a chart that says, ‘reasons we should call a truce (even though Colonel Sheppard is a slut)’.

John stops, mostly because the alternative would be to just leave immediately, and he’s pretty sure that would count as deserting at this point, and he’s had enough court martials to last him a lifetime.

“Did you draw that with sharpie?”

“I was going to make a PowerPoint but then I got lost explaining it to Ronon and suddenly I was lecturing him on quantum states and the significance of the zero point state instead and he kept wandering off, so we settled for this instead.”

Taking a closer look at it now, John can see that not all the bullet points are in Rodney’s tiny, yet weirdly neat handwriting. Some of them are clumsy, and some have a lot of loops and curves, and then there’s one in the indecipherable scrawl that John associates with Carter’s notes-

Wait.

“Rodney, how many people did you bully into this?”

“I’ll have you know that I’m not bullying anyone,” Rodney says in what must be the biggest lie since he told John, _I only saw Titanic once and no Colonel it didn’t make me cry_. “They volunteered.”

John finds that hard to believe, but then, he’s found a lot of things hard to believe over these last few weeks. “Really.”

“Really,” Rodney says in that blithe tone that will soon be number 4 on a chart called ‘reasons I punched Rodney’. “So let’s start with number one, work efficiency- what is it _now_?” Rodney is tapping his radio impatiently as he listens, and John uses his distraction to take a closer look at the chart. The work efficiency bit is courtesy of Carter, of course, and Teyla has added _team dynamics_ and _your fighting gives me headaches_. John skims most of it from that point on, only focusing on the points that look interesting – most of which are from Rodney.

He's just reading number 13 - Nobel Prize (see no. 1: work efficiency: I work less à chances of winning Nobel drastically reduced à I get depressed à I make mistakes à the city gets destroyed à we all die) – when Rodney says, “McKay out”, too calmly for there to be any sort of urgent crisis.

“Everything okay?” John asks anyway, because he can’t not.

“Yeah, yeah, just some morons touching things I told them not to touch. It’s all fine, they fixed it and I sent them to bed without dessert. Can we get a move on here? I don’t have all day.”

“It’s _your_ chart,” John says. He doesn’t even mean for it to come out pissed, but that’s how it sounds anyway, and Rodney’s face goes slack in resignation.

“Yes, I suppose it is. So, number one, work effi- what are you doing? Stop that!”

John ignores him, and slowly, meticulously draws a huge X over the chart, crossing it out.

“What, are you, is that, are you saying you don’t want a truce? Because if you’d just listen, you’ll find that there are actually 28 excellent reasons for-“

“Rodney,” John says, and Rodney, miraculously, falls silent. John holds out the pen; Rodney takes it without breaking eye contact, the corners of his mouth pulled downward unhappily.

“Yeah,” Rodney says.

There are any number of things that John would say if things were different, if Rodney was Rod, if John was someone else entirely. But John has always preferred this universe to any other variation of it, and this version of him is physically incapable of talking about his feelings without breaking out into hives. So John just says, “We’re cool. Alright?”

“Well, of course you’d say that, but-“

John hits him over the head then. “We’re cool,” he repeats.

And Rodney nods, abruptly arrogant again, like he’d never doubted it. “Of course we are,” he says. “Now, I’m going to check what those braindead monkeys I employ have done to the transporters.”

John doesn’t wait for Rodney, predicting the offer before it comes like he’s predicted a hundred offers just like it. “I’ll come watch you shout at people,” he says, and just like that, they’re off. The chart, John thinks on his way to the labs, might as well stay forgotten for another three years.

***

Things go back to normal, or as normal as they ever get in Atlantis, which is to say: not much. But John has Chaudhry deactivate his HeartGate account, and Rodney stops avoiding him, and people don’t glare at him anymore. He still gets smaller dessert portions than everyone else, but that’s okay, because John always gives his dessert to Rodney anyway. The entire situation is, John thinks, as good as he could have reasonably hoped for.

He might even forget about the entire break-up insanity all together, might ascribe it to yet another weird episode of Keeping Up With The Lanteans, if it weren’t for moments like this:

They’re on a diplomatic mission, which requires Teyla to do most of the talking, John and Ronon to hold their guns and look menacing, and Rodney to try and not touch anything. It’s all going well: Teyla talks, John and Ronon hold their guns and look menacing, and Rodney- Rodney touches something.

John only sees it in the corner of his eye, but his finely attuned Rodney-radar makes him whip around immediately, just in time to see Rodney touch the local chief scientist’s delicate necklace. The necklace starts glowing, because of course it does, Rodney starts in on a smug lecture because of course he would, and the chief scientist looks at Rodney with something like awe-slash-lust in her eyes, because of course she does.

“I’m going over there,” John announces, about to hand off his gun to Ronon but on second thought taking it with him after all. You never know when Rodney’s inability to follow simple instructions will lead to bloodshed, after all.

No one is shedding any blood by the time John has joined them by the big windowfront, though, neatly interjecting himself between the two of them to act as potential buffer in case something happens. “Everything okay here?” he asks.

“Fine, fine,” Rodney says dismissively, still examining the necklace. “Sheppard, give me a hand with this, will you?”

John’s first instinct is to say no, but even he realises that that’s petty, so he dutifully touches the pendant. Which doesn’t glow.

“Huh,” Rodney says, shoving John away so he can scan the necklace, and completely ignores the necklace’s owner who, on second thought, kind of looks like a bustier version of Candy.

Fake-Candy says, “It’s never done that before,” and, “you must be very powerful to do such a thing, Doctor,” and, “We found the pendant in a cave together with many other objects. I have some in my quarters still, perhaps you would like to see?”

Rodney’s head snaps up at that, almost comically excited. “Yes!” he says. “Actually, yes, if you could show me, that would be, I’d much appreciate if- _what_?”

“I need to talk to you for a minute,” John says firmly, and drags Rodney over to other end of the room so they can talk without Fake-Candy overhearing. “Tell me you aren’t seriously planning to go to her quarters,” he hisses as soon as they’re out of earshot.

Rodney has crossed his arms, his jaw clenched in what John has come to recognise is an early warning sign of a full-on rant that usually ends with them getting kicked out and/or someone punching Rodney in the face. “Of course I’m planning to go to her quarters, are you nuts? That stone doesn’t react to the Ancient gene but it reacts to _something_ , body signature, brain waves, higher intellect, who _knows_ , and don’t you want to find out?”

“Well, tell her to bring some of those objects to us, then! I’m not letting you go to some random woman’s quarters in the middle of a mission, and that’s final!”

“Oh, you’re not _letting_ me? That’s funny, because from what I remember, it’s completely fine for _you_ to go to random women’s quarters and-“

“What appears to be the problem?” Teyla asks, and only then does John realise that not only has Teyla has extricated herself from her boring conversation about wheats to walk over to them, but also, the entire planet’s delegation is now looking at them.

Rodney opens his mouth, so John quickly says, “McKay wants to go ‘look at alien tech’ and apparently it just has to be in some woman’s bedroom.”

“Oh, I cannot believe you just used _air quotes_ to-“

“I do not understand,” Teyla says, well-practiced in the art of cutting Rodney off before he says something incriminating in front of important trading partners. “Surely it would be more beneficial to look at them here, or in a laboratory of some sort?”

John hasn’t been this smug since he texted Candy that sometimes, he worries that his ex-boyfriend will never find happiness again.

And sometimes there’s moments like this:

Over the years, team strategy sessions became team sparring sessions became team radio silence became, after many arguments, team movie nights. They take turns picking, which means that one month worth of movies usually consists of one action movie, two scifi movies, and Gone with the Wind, because Teyla got obsessed with it two years ago and has yet to pick anything else.

It’s Ronon’s turn today, and John is currently in the middle of arguing why exactly it’s a good idea to watch Die Hard, when Teyla interrupts with, “Is Rodney not joining us?”

John shrugs. “He’s probably still blowing something up in the lab.”

Ronon visibly perks up at the mention of explosions. “Cool. Can I go get him?”

John eyes Ronon’s excited expression with no small measure of weariness. It occurs to him that Ronon is usually the one to come drag Rodney out of whatever project he’s stuck in, and suddenly, the image of Ronon composing love poetry to Candy-as-Rodney pops into John’s head, and it’s all too much. “Nah, I’ll do it,” he says. “You guys go and get started without us, we’ll be right here.”

“Cool,” Ronon says, and John thinks, _crisis averted_.

Rodney is not in any of the labs, nor in his office, which was a long shot anyway. There’s only two items left on John’s list of Rodney-spots, and since he saw Rodney flavour his coffee with stimulants earlier, he figures the mess is a better shot than the sleep quarters.

Entering the mess, John barely has time to feel smug about his success before the self-satisfaction gives way to something like dread, because Rodney isn’t alone. He’s sitting at one of the more secluded tables at the back, seemingly deeply engrossed in a conversation with one of the scientists, a brunette woman John thinks is a physicist. They’re both gesturing animatedly, and John can’t see Rodney’s face but the other scientist is smiling, like Rodney’s employees almost never do in his vicinity.

John is just about to go over there and drag Rodney away by force if he has to, because team movie nights trump whatever nerdy conversation these two have going about naquadah generators or whatever else it is Rodney talks about when John isn’t there to give him a friendly punch on the shoulder – but then the unthinkable happens.

Rodney, done with his steak and mashed potatoes, takes the pudding cup – and awkwardly holds it out to the physicist, whose smile gets even wider as she accepts it.

John turns and walks out, feeling like he’s just been punched in the stomach. He doesn’t make it back to movie night.

And then, finally, there’s moments like this:

“Want to join me on a run later?” John asks Ronon over a plate full of chicken stew in the mess.

Ronon shakes his head, already done with his own meal and looking suspiciously intent at John’s. “Nah, can’t. I’m meeting McKay.”

And:

“I got a copy of Ghostbusters,” John tells Rodney. It’s late in the evening, but even without their 24-hour shift schedule Rodney would still be up, officially because he does his best work in the dark, unofficially because he’s the biggest workaholic John has ever met.

“You do?” Rodney asks distractedly, his hands flying over his keyboard.

“I thought we could watch it once you’re done here.”

“Let’s save it for team movie night,” Rodney says without even looking up. “I’ve been telling Ronon about it.”

And:

John offers to accompany Teyla to the Athosian colony mainly to get some alone-time with her in the jumper.

He manages to wait until they take off before asking, “Have you spent any time with Rodney recently?”

“Not much. He has been very busy, I believe. But if you would like to talk to him, I am certain he would make the time.”

John, before he can stop himself, says, “Well, his dance card has been overbooked lately.”

Teyla’s smile is that of a woman who has spent two months being forced to be emotionally supportive, and who’s just about reached her breaking point. “John,” she says, “please do not take offence at what I am about to say.”

Warily, John says, “Okay.”

“Once we reach the mainland, please just drop me off and do not come back to get me for at least forty-eight hours.”

“Well,” John says after a few seconds have passed, “some offence taken.”

And:

The walk back to the gate does not feel any shorter than the walk to the villages. John spent the first hour indulging Rodney’s steady stream of complaints, and another hour tuning it out, and once the sun – up for 75 hours on this planet – had fully risen, it got so hot that even Rodney fell silent.

They’re in hour four now, and it’s only a couple more miles, so John wipes the sweat off his brow and realises in the same moment that Rodney has started talking again, only this time he’s not addressing the group at large, and he’s not bitching about the heat or the insects or the walk.

“-impressive, all things considered,” Rodney is saying.

“I know,” Ronon says smugly.

“I don’t suppose you’d let me take it apart? Just give me one hour with that thing, two hours tops, and you can have it back, good as new. Maybe better.”

“No,” Ronon says, which is the only reasonable response to Rodney begging any favours in that kind of voice.

Deflating, Rodney says, “No, I suppose not.”

Ronon reaches into his thigh holster and pulls out his gun, and John spends a split second panicking that either the heat or the PTSD or Rodney’s whining has finally driven Ronon over the edge, and then Ronon hands it over to Rodney and says, “You can scan it, if you like.”

“Oh, and what good would scanning it do?” Rodney says, offended and already halfway into a proper rant, when he catches himself, and throws Ronon an uncertain look. “I mean. That would be, um. That’s really, you’re very-“ He trails off, his resources for normal human interaction apparently all used up.

“Yeah,” Ronon says.

And John thinks, _there is no way that this is happening_.

All of this goes to say that it was never a single moment that tipped John off, never just one clue. And it’s only when he’s almost finished the puzzle that he realises that the picture is different than advertised on the cover.

***

“How much time?” John asks, shouting to be heard over the explosions going off in the distance.

“For the last time, I don’t _know_.” Rodney is bent over the nearest console, typing frantically. “The systems are down, and nothing is responding.”

“And that’s bad?” John asks, just to see the incredulous look on Rodney’s face as he replies, “Yes, Colonel, that’s _bad_.”

And then, before John can say any more things that are designed purely to piss Rodney off, Rodney does something that so rarely happens on these missions before at least two near-death-experiences: he says, “I got it. I know what we need to do.”

M2R-633 – not to be confused with M2R-632, which has cannibals, or M2R-624, which has weird 9-foot-tall bearwolf things that exhale poisonous air and, also, cannibals – is an uninhabited planet with no useful resources whatsoever. It wouldn’t have been more than a note in a file somewhere, if Rodney hadn’t discovered an Ancient outpost here just as they were about to leave. Naturally, Rodney discovered it by literally walking into it, seemingly disappearing into thin air, which John now knows was because the outpost was cloaked.

Rodney asked for two minutes and stayed two hours, and John sent Teyla and Ronon back to the gate and stayed for two hours as well, because while sometimes missions are exactly like this – wasting an entire afternoon waiting around for Rodney – that doesn’t mean everyone else has to suffer.

When Rodney said, “oh, shit,” and things started exploding, John figured that he should have expected it.

Now, all panic in Rodney’s voice is gone, something so rare that John is a little creeped out. There is no sense of alarm whatsoever when

Rodney says, “Alright, listen up. This place is quite ingenious, actually – there’s a cloak around a cloak around a forcefield around another cloak that hides the systems that control this entire base. When we entered, the forcefield shut down, which in turn made the systems shut down, which in turn, you guessed it, set off explosions, because why not. What we need is for one person to go through those layers of cloaks, and activate the forcefield again, and also, if at all possible, avoid being blown up. I can-”

“I’ll do it,” John says immediately.

Rodney frowns at him. “I was just about to say that I can try something that will stop detonations for a while, but- oh my god, you don’t even care, do you? Is this, what, is this some kind of sick fun for you? Just jumping into every suicide mission head-on? Don’t answer that,” Rodney says, lips twisting cruelly. “Just go.”

John goes.

***

In the end, Rodney stops the explosions, and John activates the forcefield, and no one gets blown up, and when they make it home, there is a small ‘no one died today’ celebration taking place on one of the decks.

John takes a shower first, so by the time he joins, the party is already in full play. There’s music, and booze, and, on one of the balconies overlooking the entire city, there’s Rodney.

John grabs two beers and steps out, handing one to Rodney in what might be a peace offering.

Rodney doesn’t turn around, eyes fixed on the glittering city below. “You know, when I first stepped through that gate, I knew it was a one-way trip, and Atlantis would be where I grew old. It still is. So I guess what I’m saying is-“ And here Rodney pauses, like he sometimes does when something is too important to be rushed out. “I’m saying, I know this was a one-way trip for you too. But I would consider it a personal favour if you stopped trying to die young.”

John’s throat feels tight. For a few seconds, they both watch the skyline of Atlantis, its seemingly endless towers, reaching up into the night sky and beyond.

“I’m going back inside,” Rodney announces after a while, and John stops him, catching his wrist without thinking. Rodney goes still under him, and John does, too. He’s not sure what the plan is, here, or if there ever was one.

There’s one thing he is sure of, though. For the first six months or so in Atlantis, John assumed they would all die horribly. But somewhere down the line, in between the wraith, and the replicators, and every other damn thing that’s been out to kill him, he’s started thinking that they would make it. And regardless of what Rodney thinks, John doesn’t actually want to die.

It’s a startling realisation that he’s absurdly glad that Rodney doesn’t want him to die, either.

Another realisation is that Rodney’s wrist is still in John’s grip, and Rodney hasn’t pulled away yet.

John thinks about this, too. And then he stops thinking.

Rodney makes a small, startled noise when John kisses him, but then he opens his mouth and kisses back enthusiastically before John can panic about having misinterpreted the whole situation.

Later, much later, after the party has been over for hours and they’ve spent the night in John’s quarters, Rodney drops his head on John’s shoulder and says sleepily, “I’m really glad we got back together.”

John hesitates, then says, “Me too, buddy. Me too.”


End file.
